Fever
by Orangeblossom Brambleburr
Summary: (Completed 04/02) Hold on, Sam... (NonSlash)


Title: Fever  
Series: N/A   
Fandom: Lord of the Rings   
Author: Orangeblossom Brambleburr   
Email: rice_al@yahoo.com   
Rating: PG   
Summary: *Hold on, Sam*. NonSlash   
Chapters: 1   
Status: Complete   
Completed: April 2002   
Disclaimer: If I could create such a world...but I can't. I can only borrow and worship.  
Notes, Dedication & Thanks: My first truly stream of consciousness piece. Scary. For   
Adrienne, who gives far more than she takes. Thanks to her, and to my other incomparable   
betas: Berylla, Van and Petra.   
  
*** *** ***  
  
... *No, you mustn't go in. Let your father rest, he needs it badly*...  
  
... *Isn't he getting better, Mama? He told us he'd be better today*...  
  
... *Darling, your father would never break his word on purpose*...  
  
The words faded out again as Sam curled more deeply under the covers. His dry lips parted,   
drier tongue scraping across them but giving no relief. "Cold," his voice whispered. So cold, he   
had twisted the covers tightly around him, arms and legs drawn tight against his body, clinging to   
himself even though his skin was raw and burning at the contact.   
  
The bed dipped and a hand brushed his brow, so icy cold he cried out, eyes tightly shut. *Oh   
Sam, darling Sam*... Murmurs. Voice. Rosie's voice, Rosie's hand, firm from all the work   
she did yet smooth, soft. He wanted to reach up, to pull it along his cheek but instead he   
winced away from the cold that burned, frigid ripples seeming to spread through his whole   
body.  
  
"Cold," he murmured again.   
  
*** *** ***  
  
... *One of the healers*...  
  
... *Brandybuck, he's working on that book*...  
  
... *burning, he's burning but when I try to cool*...  
  
... *what's best, even if he*...  
  
... *the children are frightened*...  
  
Again the words swirled into his mind, but he couldn't catch them, not even for a moment.   
Voices, hushed. Whispering. Rosie again...who was the other? Feminine. *Elanor*... his   
mouth shaped the word but no sound came out. Had she come home?   
  
... *something, we must, I've never*...  
  
... *days now, and*...  
  
... *if--no, don't say if*...  
  
The covers were peeled back and he cried out, tightening his body desperately. Hands on him,   
he couldn't name whose, and Rosie's voice, gentle, soothing but he couldn't find the words, all   
he felt was the yawning, freezing cold, like the coldest nights on the track, like snow on   
Caradhras pressing in on him, his blood must be running slower now as it freezes...he made a   
sound--*no*--a whimper or a scream, he couldn't be sure before the blackness took him,   
frozen blackness.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Sam," he said softly. "Sam, I'm frightened."   
  
"I am too, sir."   
  
"If we were just to let go now..."   
  
"No. You can't say such things. You can't think them."   
  
"I can't help it. *It's so heavy*."   
  
"Then I shall carry you."   
  
*** *** ***  
  
Light, light against his closed lids, making his field of vision glow red. He tried to bring up his   
hands to cover them, but they were too heavy, far too heavy. "The gloves, take them off   
please," he murmured and heard a start of alarm nearby.  
  
... *spoke, did you*...  
  
... *gloves*...  
  
... *dreaming, the fever*...  
  
They must have been part of his armor, or had someone played him a trick? The helm was   
pressing into his temples, his head must have grown. Did they feel like this when they had the   
Ent-draughts, did their clothes grow too tight too quickly? The thought was gone before he   
even knew who he meant.  
  
*** *** ***   
  
"So long as the sun rises and sets..."   
  
"So long as the sun rises and sets..."  
  
"And until the end of time..."   
  
"Until the end of time..."   
  
Her eyes shining...her hands in his...  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Salt in the air. Salt on his lips, his cheeks. The boat no more than a speck, the mists surrounding   
it.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
  
Words buzzing about his ears like bees in his garden, he tried to brush them aside. Bothersome.  
  
... *yes, the king would know but*...  
  
... *message wouldn't be*...  
  
... *dried, yes, and the water*...  
  
... *hot, it's steaming, but he's so hot already*...  
  
... *Sam, just hold on Sam*...  
  
Merry. He was sure of it. Something warm and wet and sweet, smelling like *life*. He knew   
the scent...remembered...he'd been here before. This room, this bed, these voices...  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Samwise. Samwise, come back to the light."   
  
"Strider?"   
  
A laugh. "Come back, we're waiting for you."  
  
"Is Mr. Frodo all right?"   
  
"I'm here, Sam, I'm all right."  
  
Slow blinking. Faces blurred, but smiling. Light. The smell of *Athelas*, Pippin's laugh,   
Frodo's bandaged hand on his own.  
  
"We've all come through."  
  
*** *** ***  
  
... *promised him, long ago. If*...  
  
... *You mustn't say if, you can't*...  
  
... *he'd never break his word, I cannot break mine*...  
  
... *another week, don't*...  
  
... *another day, perhaps. I can't*...  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Rose. My wife."   
  
"They told you you could--"  
  
"Don't say such things, I can't bear to think of life without you. Hold on."   
  
"I cannot last much longer..."   
  
"Its almost over. It will be over soon."   
  
"If you could take them with you..."   
  
"I will not leave. I would not wish it."   
  
"Unless you were dying."   
  
"I wouldn't wish that either."   
  
"If you were, I'd send you."   
  
"I know."  
  
Cries. Her hands tight on his, so tight she might break the bones. He held steady.   
  
"You can't be in here."   
  
"I will not leave her."   
  
"It isn't proper."   
  
"Propriety be damned!"  
  
*** *** ***  
  
... *Havens*...  
  
... *they won't*...  
  
... *goodbye*...  
  
... *Daddy, no*...  
  
*** *** ***  
  
His eyes weary. His hands trembling.   
  
"You bloody stubborn Gamgee."   
  
"No more stubborn than a Baggins, I reckon"  
  
*** *** ***  
  
... *Please*...  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"Dad, I don't think these ones are going to make it. They're scarce more than sticks."   
  
A laugh. A work-worn hand upon his arm. "They're sleeping, son. Give them time, give them   
another season."   
  
"How do you know?"   
  
A pocketknife drawn along the dry stick, exposing juicy green beneath it. "A lifetime."   
  
*** *** ***  
  
... *just pray*...  
  
... *else can I*...  
  
... *we must*...  
  
... *Sam, can you*...  
  
A croak, a voice unused. "Head hurts"  
  
... *last time, how long*...  
  
... *break? He's cooler*...  
  
... *done right? I'm not a king*...  
  
The sweet-wet smell again. He whimpered.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
"I'm so happy."   
  
"Even though..."   
  
"Yes."   
  
*** *** ***  
  
Warmth. Something touching his lips. His eyes opened but the world was blurred. He could   
see faces nearby. Rose, tears on her cheeks.  
  
"You're going to be all right, darling." She smiled gently, her eyes still swollen from crying, as if   
she had wept for days. Perhaps she had--he couldn't remember.   
  
"What has happened?" His voice sounded strange, hollow.  
  
"You were sick. Very sick. For a while...but you will be all right in time." Merry's voice, he   
could see the familiar face across the room, though it too seemed blurred.  
  
"I won't let go," he murmured. His eyes closed again. 


End file.
